Survive the Night

by Danielle Vega

“It looks like he got caught on the tracks,” Sam says, nodding at the arm. “See the rail? There must be another tunnel above us.”

  I squint into the shadows behind the arm. Metal train tracks glint back at me, barely visible through the crevice. I swallow. Maybe Sam’s right. Maybe this poor man just got caught on the rails and lost his arm. I take a step closer, fear prickling the back of my neck. I can’t help thinking of those girls I overheard at the party again.

  They never found his body, they’d said.

  “Let’s go,” I say. I swipe at my shoulder again, even though I know there’s nothing there. “I want to get the hell out of here.”

  “Amen,” Shana adds.

  We hurry forward. I slide my phone back into my pocket. Then, thinking twice, I pull it back out and turn up the display. A narrow, bright spotlight appears in the inky darkness, illuminating the back of Aya’s leopard-print dress. She flinches and glances over her shoulder at me.

  Blue eyeliner streams down her cheeks, mixing with her tears. Her narrow black eyes look small without it. Black hair falls loose from its fancy chignon and clings to her head, limp and lifeless.

  “We’re gonna die,” Aya whispers, lips trembling. Her lipstick’s gone, too, except for the faint smudges of red around the corners of her mouth. I lift my phone higher, but Aya flinches and shies away from the light before I can illuminate her pupils.

  “Sorry.” I reach for her hand. It feels skinny and fragile, like it belongs to a sick person, but then Aya squeezes my fingers, and she feels strong again.

  “I’m so scared, Case,” she whispers. She tries to keep a sob from escaping her lips, and her chest rises and falls. “We’re gonna die. Just like Julie.”

  I picture gray skin and black fingernails. I feel the cold hand resting on my shoulder. My heart starts beating faster.

  “We’re not going to die.” I squeeze Aya’s hand. “Remember when we spent the night at Julie’s house last summer?”

  Julie’s place is the only one with a finished basement, so we stayed over one weekend. Her mom set us up with popcorn and ordered pizza, and then left us alone for the rest of the night. We drank a bottle of peach-flavored champagne that Shana had stolen, and gossiped till four in the morning.

  Aya stares past me, her small black eyes flitting about like a bird. I don’t think she heard me. But she nods.

  “She made us play that game,” she says. “The scary one.”

  “The Ouija board,” I say. Julie spent the whole night trying to freak us out. She made us say “Bloody Mary” into her bathroom mirror and kept trying to get us to tell scary stories. But the Ouija board was her favorite. She lit a bunch of candles and poured us all a glass of the sickly sweet champagne and announced that we were going to contact the spirit of some long-dead serial killer.

  “Right,” I say. “Remember how you couldn’t sleep? And we stayed up half the night, painting each other’s nails and talking, until you finally passed out on the couch. Remember?”

  Aya nods. “I remember,” she says.

  I squeeze her hand. “And the next day, you woke up and realized there was nothing to be afraid of. That Julie just made everything up to scare us.”

  My phone blinks off. I hear Aya’s raspy breathing in the darkness. I fumble for the power button and switch the phone back on again.

  “But this is real,” Aya says when the light hits her face. “And Julie’s dead.”

  She pulls her hand away from mine and shuffles forward in silence. Every few minutes I hear her sniffle, and she wipes her cheek with her hand.

  We follow Woody down one tunnel, and then another, deeper and deeper into the subway’s depths. Sam’s candle bobs ahead of me, and I play a game of letting it move farther and farther away. Like I don’t care about him. But there’s an empty space that grows larger as the distance between us stretches. I want to feel his arm around my shoulder, and I want to hear him say that everything’s going to be all right, in his quiet, confident voice. He has the kind of voice you can’t help believing.

  I wrap my arms around my chest, trying to shake the feelings away.

  I look away from the candlelight and check my phone—5:12. I walk a little faster and open my mouth to call out to Woody. Something glimmers in the tunnel ahead. My mouth hangs open, but I forget what I was about to shout.

  “What the hell was that?” Shana says.

  “I think it was a light,” Sam says. He starts moving faster. “Maybe this is Chambers.”

  We walk faster, hurrying toward the glimmer. The ground angles down slightly. The tunnel opens up and we spill into a wider, open space. A stone ceiling arcs high above us, and rounded brick walls surround us on all sides. Two more tunnels twist off from the walls, and all are just as narrow and dark as the one we came down. I look around the space for the glimmer—and step right into a puddle of water.

  “What the hell,” I mutter, shuffling back. Water seeps through my flimsy leather shoe and soaks the bottom of my jeans. Shana splashes into the puddle next to me.

  “Shit,” she says, staring down at her soaked leather boot. Disappointment flashes across her face. “You guys, this must’ve been what we saw. Our lights reflected off the water.”

  We’re quiet as it sinks in that we’re no closer to finding an exit. I make my way around the side of the space, cringing as water seeps into my shoes. I use my phone to illuminate the two new tunnels. Water pools along the bottoms of both.

  “This must be why these tunnels are closed,” I say. Woody comes up behind me.

  “Is that a sign?” he asks.

  I frown. “Like, from God?”

  He gives me a look and takes the phone out of my hand, sending a beam of light toward the wall. Faded black paint labels the tunnel.

  CITY HALL, it reads. I glance at Woody, wondering if he recognizes the name. Frown lines crinkle his forehead.

  “Shit,” he mutters.

  “What do you mean shit?” Sam asks.

  Woody scratches the back of his head with my phone. “Look,” he says. “I must’ve gotten a little turned around.”

  “Turned around?” Shana asks.

  “I thought we were heading toward Chambers.” Woody turns and glances at the sign reading CITY HALL. “But, um, it looks like we veered east at some point.”

  “We’ve been walking in the wrong direction for half an hour?” Sam yells.

  His mouth is a hard, thin line. Heat climbs his neck, and red splotches color his cheeks. He rakes his hand through his hair and kicks the floor of the tunnel. Something skitters through the dark and splashes into the puddle.

  “Damn it!” Sam shouts. Woody clears his throat.

  “Look,” he says. “I think . . .”

  “I don’t care what you think.” Sam rounds on Woody and shoves him. Woody stumbles into the water and falls against the wall.

  “Watch it!” he shouts. Sam stares daggers at him. For a second I’m sure he’s going to hit him again, but then he shakes his head. Some of the anger fades from his face, and he offers Woody his hand.

  “Sorry,” he mutters, pulling Woody back to his feet. Woody shrugs and straightens his shirt.

  “If you two are done, will one of you explain how we’re going to get out of here now?” Shana asks.

  Sam sighs, and looks over Shana’s shoulder, down the tunnel we just walked through. “I guess we double back? See if we can find the way to Chambers?”

  “Double back?” Woody shakes his head. “Look, there’s definitely an exit down toward City Hall. A bunch of other trains crisscross the tunnels up there. It’s probably just ten more minutes on.”

  “Um, it’s flooded.” Shana stomps around in the water with her heavy boots, splashing the walls. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. There’s maybe an inch of water sloshing around on the ground and our feet are already wet.

 
; “I’m up for going to City Hall,” I say. “The water’s not deep.”

  “Not yet.” Shana cocks an eyebrow, looking at me like I’m crazy. “And the tunnel slopes down. We’re trying to go up, remember?”

  “So you want to turn around?” The idea of going back the way we came makes me feel suddenly very tired. “Come on, he said it was just ten more minutes!”

  “He also said we were headed toward Chambers!” Shana shouts. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about!”

  “Hey, I don’t see you helping,” Woody says.

  “Guys, stop.” Sam moves between us. Turning to me, he says, “Look, we have to turn back.”

  Anger flares inside me. “Of course you’d side with Shana.”

  “I’m not siding with Shana. I’m trying to be logical about this.” Sam slams his fist against the tunnel wall. “Woody doesn’t really know where we’re going.”

  “Jesus. That sign clearly says City Hall.” Woody waves his hands at the faded black letters. “You do see it, don’t you? I’m not hallucinating?”

  “Well, what if we go down that tunnel and can’t get back out?” Sam asks. “Or what if it’s so badly flooded that we wind up trapped?”

  “What if we head back the way we came and get lost?” I shout back.

  Something shuffles behind us, and I flinch before realizing it’s just Aya. She steps away from the wall and puts her hand on my arm. Shana looks from me to her.

  “I guess she’s the tiebreaker,” she mutters, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well, Aya? What do you want to do?”

  Aya sniffs and rocks back and forth on her dirty heels. “I’m with Casey,” she says, her voice raw from crying. “Let’s go to City Hall.”

  SEVENTEEN

  “WELL. THIS IS FUN,” SHANA SAYS. “GREAT PLAN, guys.”

  She sloshes through the water, sending choppy waves crashing against the tunnel walls. We’ve only been walking for fifteen minutes, and the freezing water is up to our knees. My toes are numb.

  Aya sniffles. “Ew. Ew,” she whispers under her breath.

  We made her take off her ridiculous heels back when the water started getting higher, and now she walks barefoot through the flooded tunnels. Algae climbs the walls and blankets the ceiling, and dusty pipes twist along beside us. Aya slips on something and stumbles forward, grabbing my arm. I pause to let her steady herself.

  “You okay?” I ask. She sniffles.

  “We’re gonna die, Casey. We’re gonna die.”

  She starts sobbing again. I turn my back instead of trying to help, and wade forward. Guilt clenches my stomach, but I try to ignore it. I know she’s high and terrified, but I’ve tried talking to her and I’ve tried calming her down. Nothing works. The only thing we can do is get out of here as soon as possible.

  “Seriously,” Shana says. She swings her leg, kicking up a wave of greasy water. “It was too easy when we were just trapped underground with a serial killer. Now we get to be trapped underground in a flooded tunnel with a serial killer.”

  Aya whimpers, but Shana doesn’t seem to notice.

  “I’ve always wondered whether crocodiles lived in the subways,” she says. “I guess now I’ll find out. Thank you, Woody.” Shana slow-claps, walking through the water backward.

  “Don’t be a bitch, Shana,” Woody mutters.

  Shana forms an O with her mouth and puts her hand to her chest in a mock “Who, me?” gesture.

  A headache pounds at my temples. Aya inhales, and I hear that telltale hitch in her breathing that usually comes before she starts sobbing again. I know Shana’s just letting off steam and that she’s probably as freaked as the rest of us. But she doesn’t seem to care that she’s making everyone miserable.

  “Let’s talk about great plans, Shana,” I say. “Like how it was such a great plan to bring us to this party. And losing track of Julie. That was a fantastic plan.”

  Shana releases a short laugh. “No one put a gun to your head, soccer Barbie. You could’ve gone home any time you wanted.”

  “You’re joking, right? Or did you forget the giant, scary bouncer guarding the door? Oh, yeah, and that thing where you drugged me?”

  “Like you weren’t asking for it!”

  “Shana, shut up,” Sam says, cutting her off.

  Shana stops walking, and hurt flashes across her face. She looks at Sam, then back at me. I can’t help the little half smile that curves my lips.

  We continue wading through the tunnel in silence. My cell phone light dances over grimy gray walls. I glance at the display.

  “Ten percent,” I shout. Sam’s phone died a few minutes ago. Woody and I are the only ones who still have power left. We’re trying to preserve it.

  “You should turn it off until the candle goes out,” Sam calls back to me. The candle burns low in his hand. There’s not much wick left, and the flame is barely more than a dim, glowing ember. I switch my phone off and slip it into my back pocket.

  Shana swears under her breath. “Now it’s cold, wet, and dark,” she mutters.

  I glare at her back, twisting Julie’s ring on my finger. I picture Julie sitting in the backseat of Shana’s Buick, pinching her fingers together like she was meditating. With her dark eyes and those thick curls falling down her back, she looked like a goddess. Before she got into pot, Julie was brilliant. Harvard brilliant. NASA brilliant. She had the best PSAT scores in our entire school.

  I twist the ring around my finger. The metal cuts into my skin, leaving it raw. I barely notice. I’m thinking about the time Julie and I tried to study SAT vocab in the cafeteria during lunch. My parents had just bought me a bunch of expensive prep materials: new books and flash cards and practice tests. I showed them to Julie, but she sighed, shaking her head.

  “These things have no soul,” she told me. “You need to be the SAT vocabulary words to understand them.”

  We were still laughing when Shana bounced up to our table.

  “Come with me,” she said, smiling her little-kid smile. “I have a surprise.”

  We followed her to the edge of the parking lot, where Sid Bronson parked his van. Sid wasn’t a student, but he hung around the school, selling fake IDs and drugs. Rumor was he didn’t accept money. You had to pay him in favors.

  My stomach twisted in knots as we stepped up to his van. Shana stood on her tiptoes and rapped on the rusty metal door. He unrolled the window a crack, and Shana slipped him a folded piece of notebook paper. To this day I have no idea what it said. A second later, Sid opened the door and handed her a tiny white envelope.

  “It’s X,” she whispered as we walked away. “Just enough for the three of us.”

  Shame and fear gnaw at my insides when I think of that memory. Julie and I didn’t even think. We just followed Shana blindly.

  A tear oozes out of the corner of my eye. I wipe it away with the back of my hand. My head pounds, throbbing with regret.

  I imagine Julie walking next to me. I wish I could grab her hand or hear her wry, sarcastic voice again. I close my eyes, whispering a silent prayer. If I get out of this place, I’ll take the SATs and apply to college. I’ll go to sleepovers at Madison’s house. I’ll be a different person.

  I pull the Tylenol bottle out of my pocket. There are still a few pills rattling around inside. I’ll never touch anything stronger than Tylenol again, I think to myself, popping off the lid. I look inside the bottle and freeze.

  Two tiny, round oxycodone pills sit nestled among the remaining Tylenol. They stare up at me, beckoning.

  All the air leaves my lungs. Those pills can’t be here. I blink, but they’re still there when I open my eyes. Waiting.

  I slam the lid back on the bottle and shove it into my pocket. My parents said they swept my room and threw out all my old stashes. They could have missed a bottle.

  Shana had your pills, a
little voice in the back of my head says. I run a hand over the buzzed side of my head, thinking of how she had swiped the Tylenol bottle off the bar and handed it back to me later. It would’ve been just like her to give me a few pills. Like a dare.

  Aya’s breath hitches again. The sound is sharp, like a paper bag crumpling. I glance back at her, grateful for the distraction.

  “How you doing, Aya?” I ask. Her skin looks pale beneath her streaked makeup. She hiccups.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God.” She can’t focus on my face. Instead, she stares at something over my shoulder. Nerves prickle along my neck. Something flickers at the corner of my eye. I whip around. But there’s nothing there.

  “Aya, I need you to calm down,” I say. The oxy pills burn inside my pocket, but I ignore them. Aya’s red-rimmed eyes slide over to mine and widen. She screams.

  “Aya!” I say. She doesn’t hear me. Her scream echoes through the tunnels. She sinks to her knees and her blue skirt floats to the surface of the water.

  The others stop walking and crowd around me.

  “Is she okay?” Woody asks. Aya wraps her arms around her chest. She stops screaming for long enough to suck down a lungful of air. Then her scream cuts through the tunnels again, shrill and piercing.

  “I don’t know.” I frown, and touch her shoulder. Aya jerks away. Her eyes bulge, and her face turns red. “She was fine before. Well, not fine, but she wasn’t freaking out.”

  “I’m starting to lose my cool,” Shana says. I can hear the fear in her voice, and that scares me more than Aya does. I think of the oxy again, then curse myself. I’m not going to take it. I refuse to take it.

  Aya’s scream cuts off, abruptly. She stares at that same spot over my shoulder and rocks back and forth on her knees, hugging herself. Water laps around her waist. I have that feeling again, that feeling that someone’s watching me.

  Steeling myself, I turn around. The tunnel wall stands directly behind me. There’s enough light to see the curve of it, but the details are in shadow. “No.” Aya moans. “No no no no.”

  Fear drops through me like a rock. “Do you see something?” I pull my phone out of my pocket, illuminating her face with the blue-tinted phone display. The light washes out her skin, making her look like a ghost.